The Fated Ones
by helebette
Summary: Santana and Quinn's relationship evolves over time. Also a story involving Rachel and Cassandra July, because I couldn't help but write about them as well:)
1. Chapter 1

The first time they go at it, Quinn and Santana are all fumbling and stumbling—out of clothes, onto the bed, bumping against each other at odd angles. Quinn elbows Santana's boob and then apologizes and tries to kiss it better. Santana just rolls her eyes and hooks her finger beneath Quinn's chin, drawing their mouths together before settling between her former best friend's thighs.

The kissing is surprisingly good, so Santana takes a moment to appreciate it, even as Quinn gets a little sloppy and her tongue sort of wetly hits her upper lip. Santana just pins her wrists to the pillows and nips at her to control the kiss.

They tear away the covers and Santana presses Quinn to the bed with her weight, wanting to be the one who interjects with some rhythm or grace in the situation. She tries to take her time, tries to shut her brain up as well. '_This is Quinn for fucksakes'_ is like a neon sign in her mind. But she concentrates on nuzzling Quinn's neck, because it feels good when their thighs slide together and their breasts press together and then…ok…good…brain off, body _on_…

Santana spends long moments licking Quinn's right ear, palming her breasts, and using her thigh to gauge the wetness between Quinn's legs.

"Oh fuck…wow…" Santana breathes out hard against Quinn's neck before working two fingers down between them, slipping against slick skin, and fumbling for the opening she knows is there.

"That's the wrong…" Quinn yelps and Santana apologizes and then there is that giving of flesh and she has to close her eyes momentarily against a rush of desire.

"Oh wow. You feel good." Santana mumbles. They kiss again, and her hand tangles in blonde hair, cupping the back of Quinn's head. She starts slow, sliding her fingers in and around, curling them only slightly, then removing them and using the wetness she found within to circle Quinn's clit. "You smell good also…" Which is true, but saying it aloud makes Santana blush. It isn't just the expensive perfume with its hint of Jasmine, or the hair products that smell like a sultry afternoon at the beach. Quinn went through a Sandalwood phase and now it's much more subdued. It's all of these things, combined with sex, so unique to each woman. Santana buries her nose in the crook of Quinn's neck when she presses inside of her again, and this time the rush she feels hits her chest, then her belly, then lower, and she shifts to press herself against Quinn's thigh.

There are scratches on her back and sounds that intensify as Santana figures out what she's doing. The sounds are the best. A whining, "Oh yes there" and a moaning "oh God, Santana yes, deeper" precede a shouting orgasm that takes her by surprise. But there Quinn is, clenching around Santana's fingers, holding onto her shoulder for dear life. When Santana extracts her fingers, she realizes that it all went too fast. So she dives down and takes a lick—first around her own hand and then around Quinn's pussy. It's the best thing ever, going down on a girl, and Santana isn't giving up this opportunity. When she looks up, she smirks at the sight of Quinn babbling to herself, swiping her hands through her hair, sliding down again to cup her own breasts. _Fuck_. It's good.

"You taste good…" Santana says this loudly and concentrates long licks on Quinn's clit.

After another orgasm—this time Quinn screams rather than shouts—Santana kisses her way down Quinn's legs and laughingly wraps herself in a sheet, propping her head on one hand and waiting for the accolades.

Quinn says some shit about being with a woman as a 'one time thing'. Whatever. When Santana asks if they should make it a two time thing, Quinn slides over the bed and kisses her neck. She has a brief moment of wondering who taught Quinn her moves at those Jody Foster clambakes. Then she remembers—this is Quinn's first time with a woman—and gets a little smug.

Round two is all about Santana. Quinn is cute when she's insecure, and nothing brings that out in her like the act of trying to please another woman for the first time.

Her mouth descends upon Santana's breasts, which seem to fascinate her. She laves each nipple with flattened tongue, then tries pointing her tongue, then tries just sucking. Santana clasping the back of her head to direct her a little, while her other hand touches Quinn's wrist gently as that hand explores between her totally spread legs. Quinn's unspoken question is answered by, "Just touch me how you'd touch yourself…" Except that's not entirely what Santana wants. She wants to be touched the way she wants to be touched…and well, Quinn is already somehow understanding of this. She asks a lot of questions. Left, right, up, down. She asks what that rough ridge will do deep inside and Santana gasps about the g-spot and tells her "another time" without being sure there will really ever be another time. Quinn wants to know if Santana's clit likes direct stimulation or indirect stroking and she gets a "_jesus _have you been reading a manual?" followed by a gasping "faster and harder circles" when she touches just lightly enough to drive Santana a little nuts.

Coming makes Santana tired, so they doze a little, before Quinn bounds out of bed and orders breakfast. While they eat, Quinn gets all poetic about the whole thing beyond gender and experimentation. "For me, this was about enjoying something, together, with someone I really care about. I was curious, obviously. Beyond that, it was really fun. And really nice." Quinn has the look and sound of someone who really doesn't enjoy sex all that often. So then Santana is oddly proud of herself, but not in an egotistical way. She isn't smug anymore, because she gave Quinn something that no one else was able to give her. Fuck Finn and Puck, and fuck that gross professor…

Still, she raises her eyebrow and says, "_Nice_?"

Now Quinn has something to prove.

What happens next is much more subdued. Quinn is sore and Santana is past her usual limit, so they roll on their sides, one knee up. Their hands are slippery as they explore each other. Quinn slips her middle finger gently inside Santana and Santana, taking her cue that this is just about the limit of pressure Quinn needs, strokes her clit while pressing her opening.

"How's that?" Santana breathes against her lips but doesn't make a move to kiss her. Quinn's obviously the big kisser between them, always wanting to latch on when sex is involved. Like now. Which is nice. Because Santana's question is answered much more thoroughly with Quinn's tongue in her mouth, vibrating with those little whining noises she makes when her clit is stroked just right.

Much later, after they finally part ways, Santana washes the scent of Quinn from her hands and wonders about her motivations for their little tryst.

Was it a little bit about forgetting Brittany? Not really. About getting revenge? Not that either.

She decides to file it away and leave the processing for another time.

It is as surprising to her as anybody else when their little one-nighter turns into something more. Something much more. Something that trails into the next decade of their lives before they're forced to make some kind of decision about it all.


	2. Chapter 2

If Santana and Quinn's relationship moves at a confusing pace, at least they're pretty comfortable with it all. Their friends' love lives and subsequent emotional needs, provide enough drama to keep them both distracted.

It is Rachel Berry who worries them most. Not just because they made her life hell in high school, and not just because they feel they owe her, but also because it's just so hard to see someone throw themselves so completely into the arms of one so complex and difficult as Cassandra July. Rachel doesn't even try to find anybody else and she's so sincere, so sweet, that it's obvious to all that she's the one about to get hurt.

Rachel keeps an embarrassingly accurate record of the soundtrack to her and Cassandra July's romance, and tells Quinn and Santana about far too much of it. She still gets wet whenever she hears _All That Jazz_, even after years with the woman. "Oh for fucksake…" is Quinn's answer to that piece of TMI.

Cassie, on the other hand, cringes when she hears those first few songs—the ones that remind her of the horrid inward suspicions that Rachel was the one too good for her and not the other way around. And that they weren't 'meant to be' which is Rachel's version of the story. That they were, instead, just two ships sailing past one another in the night when Cassielaunched herself into Rachel's path.

It starts between them one night, shortly after Rachel's callback, when she takes herself to some club in Soho that she'd heard about from Santana. Her performance had moved _her_ but no one else in that fucking room seemed to care. Rachel's ennui lasts for half the night until she starts to get into the music that the band is playing. Their rendition of Fleetwood Mac's _Gypsy_, is all acoustic guitars and hand drums and she has to fight the urge to sing along loudly.

But then she sees Cassandra, sitting in a corner, laughing and drinking martinis with two women Rachel doesn't recognize. Her throat gets a lump in it, so singing wouldn't be possible. Or maybe her heart is stuck in her throat—because Cassandra looks stunning, and Rachel understands all at once that the nerves she'd had in class weren't just about her own abilities as a dancer.

Cassandra smiles when she sees Rachel, and tugs a waiter aside, nodding in her direction. The drink arrives soon after is blue and green and has gold flecks. Cassandra laughs her ass off at Rachel's first grimacing sip, but she stops laughing when Rachel proceeds to chug the rest of it. She orders Rachel two more, because she's curious, and also because she suspects that the kid can't afford the place.

When she stumbles outside, Cassandra catches up to her and laughingly grabs at her elbow just as she's about to face plant into the pavement. A cab speeds up to them and the driver shouts out his window.

"Gypsy cab!" Rachel hiccups then laughs. "It's just like the song!"

"Yeah, it's an omen." Cassie waves the guy on. "Let's go somewhere for coffee. I know a place close by." If she's already got seduction on her mind, she's not telling, but her hands keep brushing against Rachel's and that familiar rush is beginning. The same rush that accompanied her ridiculous fling with every other pretty student she took home.

"You believe in omens?" Rachel is a little behind in the conversation, but that smile, that earnest fucking smile, makes Cassandra sort of rethink the smartass remark she'd normally give such a question. This one's a charmer and she'll draw Cassie in much quicker and more easily than she'll be thrown off.

It's cliché as shit, but about ten seconds later, Rachel totally trips, Cassandra totally catches her, and they just sort of stand there. All to the sounds of Alicia Keys' _Fallin'_ which they can hear from a storefront's speaker system which _come on_. Really.

"Omens." Cassandra mutters. Her eyes widen when she meets Rachel's again. "So are you going to tell me how the fuck it went today, or am I going to have to wait for caffeine?"

"Caffeine at this hour." Rachel shrugs, letting her eyes graze over the top of Cassie's black billowy blouse. She giggles but then feels a surge of desire at the glimpses of skin she's treated to, and the curve of the other woman's breast. Then she giggles again because if Puck were here he'd stage whisper 'side boob' like an idiot.

"That well, huh?" Sudden, flickering uncertainty is replaced just as quickly with a stoic look. "You never know. And anyway, don't expect better. Not at this stage." Cassie looks down at where Rachel is pretending not to stare and raises an eyebrow.

But then they're at the coffee place, where they each order a single shot of what Cassie insists to be the best espresso in the city. They make ridiculous small talk. "What are your summer plans?" Cassie already seems bored with her line of questioning but for some reason she draws out their time together. She's in less of a rush than she might have guessed at this stage.

"Enjoy the city. Do whatever it takes to survive." Rachel is so sincere. Cassie laughs at her melodrama, more than once, and finally invites her back for another drink.

"Aren't I trying to sober up?" Rachel asks as the cab stops in front of the Soho apartment she's heard reference to. Of course it's her tuition that pays for it, but worry—that this might be a very bad idea—hasn't yet crossed her mind.

"Sobriety may be overrated." Comes an oddly hesitant reply. While Rachel plays with the stereo and looks around, Cassie opens wine and wonders what the hell she's doing. She catches Rachel unaware in the washroom where she's ooh'ing over the fucking shower and hands her a glass of Merlot, but before Rachel can take a sip, there are lips pressed to hers and a hand holding her in place, firm against the small of her back. It's a damned good kiss, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Cassie wonders if she might be doing them a disservice this early in the game.

The song that plays during their first time (on the couch that is) when Cassie rips Rachel's favorite dress and finds her own favorite necklace lost somewhere in the cracks between the floor boards for like a month, is a remix of _If I Lose Myself_ by One Republic. It's perfect—from Rachel's perspective—and overwhelming for Cassie. She doesn't like being eaten out to soft music and candlelight, especially when the person doing the fucking is touching her so reverently.

Then she makes the mistake of being honest the next morning, saying, "Maybe I was just messing with you to see if you'd go along with it. But that was pretty good." She's delivering this line as nonchalantly as she can, but Rachel looks at her knowingly from her perch against a pile of blanket and pillows.

Things go pretty good for a while. Rachel learns to give space where space is needed. She lets things just happen. Which sort of works out, because they'd already established the where and when of their favorite coffee source, and so can 'accidentally' run into one another as frequently as they need to.

Two single shots (because a double ruins the espresso) and a miniature croissant are Cassie's Sunday morning treat while Rachel drinks, of all things, the particular brand of green-ginseng tea that she can only get there.

Sometimes they wander back to Cassie's apartment, but they never go to Rachel's.

"I'm recreating myself," she insists, "and my friends…they worry too much…"

They do. Especially Santana. Cassie knows this because she received a slew of threatening texts after chasing Rachel out (inadvertently) one rainy, Thursday night.

For her part, Cassie thinks it's ridiculous and sort of terrifying—how Rachel can get all weepy over a Snow Patrol song because it played the first time they fucked in an actual bed.

"Name the song!" Is what Rachel _actually_ shouts.

"It was…shit…why does it matter?" Cassie's pretty freaked out. And it's not because she can't remember the title of the song that has that annoying 'shoo' sound over and over. So she sings it instead. Because of course she remembers listening to that stupid song on the mixed cd Rachel made her for their trips upstate.

"…_this is your life decision time_…"

Well, it almost works. Still, Rachel goes back to her dads for a visit, to 'think a few things over' and Cassie drinks herself into a stupor in retaliation. She does not go out. She does not sleep with anyone else. And she resents Rachel just a little, without meaning to, for both decisions.

When Rachel comes back to her, Cassie serenades her with _If I Were a Boy_ from the tub.

She tries to learn.

She does learn that she can do whatever brings pleasure to them both, but if she doesn't provide a kiss and cuddle when Rachel is coming down from orgasm, there'll be hell to pay. The first time she finds out, she's got Rachel's legs over her shoulders and she's grinding herself to orgasm against bare, soft, wetness…and fuck it's so perfect that she comes like a fucking volcano. But then she makes the mistake of going to the kitchen for water and when she returns, Rachel is throwing her clothes on and crying…

"Wait, what?" Cassie shouts after _that_ door slams. She goes out that night. And the night after. She won't admit to the rest, not even to herself.

Rachel won't return her texts or calls for three weeks. It sucks. It sucks hard enough that Cassie bites the bullet and orders the most expensive arrangement of lilies and gardenias and whatever-the-fuck else the florist advises and has them delivered to Rach's dressing room.

She calls. "It's a start. Thank you." Rachel says, then hangs up.

Santana texts, "Next time Snix kicks ass."

"WTF?" Cassie texts back.

"Grow up." Is the reply. Which makes Cassie feel really fucking foolish. For chasing someone so young and so full of promise.

As it turns out, Rachel was listening to _Fall at Your Feet_ on repeat for that entire first night and it's pretty much half the reason Santana sends such snarky texts.

But there are also songs for the good times. Like the Winter solstice event that Santana throws in Lima, where Cassie holes up in a hotel room and endures a first meeting with two extremely sarcastic men claiming to absolutely support Rachel's every move. Cassie can tell when some really ridiculous reverse psychology bullshit is at work, so she plays extra nice. By the time appetizers have arrived at the terrible restaurant that serves free breadsticks, she's already got one of Rachel's dads wrapped around her little finger. She just has to sing along to _La Isla Bonita _getting the Spanish right and everything_. _

"When did I become so totally gay?" She whispers to her girlfriend when they sneak away for a quick make-out session in the washroom.

After dessert, someone sets up a karaoke machine for Rachel's benefit, and they do a duet of _What Have I Done to Deserve This_. Just like that, dad number two is in Cassie's back pocket.

Once she's got family approval, she whisks Rachel off to their hotel room, and thoroughly debauches her.

"Oh fuuuuuck…" Is Rachel's inarticulate response to being thrown onto all fours and eaten from behind. She screams when Cassie's tongue delves further up.

Later, when they're lounging in the massive, ridiculous heart-shaped tub, Rachel turns to her and says, "did you hear someone's car radio was playing _Friday I'm in Love _while you did…you know…"

"While I fucked your ass for the first time?" Cassie nods casually and pulls the slippery woman close, hugging her close. "I noted it. That song will never sound quite the same from now on."

An entire fucking decade later, Rachel stands as Santana's 'best man' at her wedding to Quinn. But for now, Cassie has to deal with this Quinn person, this creature of infinite beauty and occasional anger, in some really intense ways. Like that time in just their fourth month together, when Quinn visits and Rachel kisses her while they're out at a bar.

Rachel's confession is made later that same evening. Cassie plays Humble Pie's _Desperation_ and pretends not to care.

Hearing nothing in Cassie's voice that would indicate otherwise, Rachel assumes she really doesn't give a shit, and she leaves, though Quinn quickly convinces her to go back.

This time, when she's pressed to the couch, and Cassie's hips are pushing hard against her, Rachel runs soothing hands up and down her sides, tells her she's decided to pay a great deal more attention to their fledgling relationship.

It's six months in, when Cassie makes the same decision. She plays Rachel's mixed cd all the way to their rented cabin upstate, and sings along accurately to everything and everyone, from Black Sabbath to Belle and Sebastian. Rachel leans over with a smile that is wicked and perfectly innocent at once, peels up her skirt, and manages to somehow angle her mouth against her cunt.

"Oh myfucking…yes!…I love you…" Cassie gasps and grits her teeth, her hand pressing to the back of Rachel's head only because she knows that the sentiment just expressed will lead to sudden movements not advised while she's trying to drive. Rachel just delves in deeper with her tongue, flicks her clit, and pushes her through a throbbing, nearly blinding orgasm. Cassie grasps the steering wheel, hard, and bites her lip to keep focus. Her heart pounds and her eyes tear up while Rachel straightens her skirt again.

"I love you too." Rachel whispers sweetly in her ear when Cassie's fingers deftly unzip her jeans, moments later.


	3. Chapter 3

Dismissing Quinn as an experimenting college girl is just some stupid breezy way for Santana to make sure they don't get too attached beyond friendship. Of course this means making room for other people, for new experiences. It also means refusing to mire in the angst that results from holding on too tightly.

"I don't like this whole Cassandra July thing." Quinn informs her over cappuccinos one lazy Saturday morning. She's visiting because Rachel texted her just as she was vacating the apartment and (supposedly) her former dance teacher's life.

It's a little strange though, because Quinn is here to support Rachel knowing that Rachel was on her way out of town. Her excuse is that she wants to be waiting when their friend comes back.

"Don't worry." Santana scoops her foam into Quinn's mug because she can see that hers is low. "I'm being really hard on _Miss July_." She adjusts the sheet around herself and sighs. "Kinda like how I was when you were dating your teacher. Only worse. Because I know that this one is going to last a long ass while and might just hurt that little minion of Broadway evildoers." She scratches her nose and chances a glance at her friend.

Quinn, who is actually dressed, in dark skinny jeans and a red t-shirt, laughs at Santana's irreverence toward the most sacred of theatrical phenomenon. She had offered to get breakfast so, bad hostess or not, Santana had managed an extra half hour of sleep.

Sleeping had been more like collapsing because Quinn got in at three in the fucking morning and they barely had time to say _hey_ before Santana flounced off to her squeaky bed. At one point, Santana could feel Quinn's hand on her ass, just below the hem of her red lace trimmed boy shorts. Which, she has to admit, is a pretty ridiculous choice for bed so what the hell was she trying for? She had put Quinn's hand back on Quinn's own ass, where it belonged, and tried to pretend that she wasn't wondering if they were going to sleep together that weekend.

"Stop worrying about Rachel." Santana has to say, more than once, until finally, on Sunday morning, she makes a move to distract Angry Quinny (Brit's nickname, because she can sense those storms even miles away). Santana makes the mistake of telling Quinn all about it. Well why not? It's fucking hilarious.

"Don't call me that." Quinn smiles in this really frightening way, but it makes Santana crack the fuck up. "If you're trying to get into my pants, you're doing a terrible job," she adds. Still, her jeans slip off easily enough, and her kisses are as eager as they were on Valentines, and when Santana chooses a film from the bottom of her underwear pile, Quinn just nods.

They're laying together on the couch, while actual lesbian porn is playing, so the move hadn't exactly been subtle. But Santana can tell, moments later, as she's touching the Quinn's cheek gently, and as Quinn's mouth explores her pussy, that she wasn't the only one wondering about 'round 10'. It's a little more intense than Santana would have imagined and she almost regrets it for a second…

"Hey, you ok?" Quinn lifts her head and gazes, totally dazed, up into Santana's frightened eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm…" Santana swallows hard. "Good. You ok?"

"Uh huh…" and just like that, Quinn lowers her mouth again, and it isn't long before Santana feels herself pulsating against a surprisingly eager tongue.

Quinn watches the flickering images on the television. It's two women scissoring. She smiles, shakes her head, stretches out again until her head is on Santana's belly and says, "You'd do a much better job making this stuff. You should become a porn director."

"That is a weird compliment. Thank you." Santana is genuinely pleased, both by the ridiculous sentiment and by the fact that they're sort of maybe cuddling a little. She'd missed cuddling. It's nice and feels much less complicated than sex.

Two weeks after Quinn leaves, Santana finds herself bored and restless. She ends things with the dance instructor she'd been maybe sort of sleeping with, and takes up with one of the cage dancers at the bar. That affair ends, a day later, in a drunken threeway, which she tells Rachel about in ridiculous detail.

"Hmmmm…" Rachel just sort of purses her lips and shrugs. "Not my thing, but did you have fun?"

"Ummm, no. It was sort of messy." Santana sighs and looks her friend up and down. The dark smoky eyes are a sign that Rachel is trying to impress Cassie for whatever reason. "You going on a date?" She asks, peering appraisingly at Rachel's color choices.

"Oh, yes. We're watching Kurt's show." Rachel spins, like a goof, and curtsies, in honor of some scene during which Kurt has to take off most of his clothes and dance around a statue of a unicorn. It's a weird play. Santana's already seen it twice. She's so fucking proud of her little co-captain in the Army of Gay, even if his first starring role is so bizarre.

"Cool. I think I'll stay celibate tonite. I won't wait up for _you_ though." Santana gives her now blushing friend a kiss on the cheek and goes off to her latest piece of horrid reclaimed furniture to read a book.

Quinn calls, of course, because Rachel's about to get laid and she's got a sixth sense about these things.

Except she asks about Santana, and barely mentions her disagreement with the whole teacher-student affair.

"Oh, I'm over that." Quinn says when prompted. "I think Rach has made her decision and we should just support her. I called you ask you how you're doing. Didn't you break up with that dancer?"

It takes all of two seconds for Santana to decide _not_ to tell Quinn about the disastrous threeway. She just sighs and confirms the rumor, and accepts all of her friend's sympathies. Then she laughs. "It's not a biggie, really."

Weeks go by and the weather becomes oppressively hot. Santana loves every second of it. She works hard on a new dance routine, writes a little (not her thing) and practices her vocals with the crazy kids she lives with.

That June, Quinn takes a break from extra studying, and makes her way to the big city for a week or two…

…or three, or _four_, because she lands a job hours after arriving.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Santana tries really hard not to look super happy. She's seeing a lawyer, a total player but someone who'll buy her dinner. Anyway, she sort of had a date with the woman but kinda blew her off for Quinn, but then G (that's all Santana will call her) insisted on coming along.

"I know someone who knows someone. They're giving me their studio apartment in exchange for the wages I'll earn while I keep their job open for them." Quinn rolls her eyes, but really, the rent is way more than what she's earning so it's fine. She suddenly glares at the blonde woman in the pencil skirt who wanders up to them. "Gotta get back to it." She adds tersely, tying her apron back on and removing the empty mugs from their table.

Santana stays but her not-really-girlfriend takes off to her office or wherever. She watches Quinn slinging espresso and wonders if she should mention the other women she's maybe not admitting to maybe not dating.

Ok, so being a big gaybian in a big giant city for the first time, has its perks. But life is also complicated.

After Quinn's first shift, they buy a cheap bottle of wine and go to the world's tiniest apartment.

"You're already trained? When did you learn to pour shots of coffee only to throw them the fuck out and since when do you make foam hearts?" While she talks, Santana rifles through her friend's lone suitcase. She whistles at the purple silk thong that Quinn snatches away.

"I dated a barista." Is all Quinn will say. "Stop wandering in circles." She can't help but laugh though. Santana can take three long steps from one side of the room to the other, and proceeds to demonstrate.

An hour later, Santana says, "You're weird, why didn't you tell me you were doing this?" She sighs sleepily, half a bottle of wine coursing through her system, making her a little buzzed but not really drunk. She had already helped Quinn to throw a sheet onto the bed, so now they lounge around, watching the view of what appears to be a former store-front next door. Both are leaning against the coolness of the painted brick wall and Quinn keeps tracing her hand over Santana's belly in this soothing way. Which just reminds Santana of that last time on the couch.

"Why didn't you tell me about the cage dancing?" Quinn replies. She's still nursing a small glass of wine. Santana watches her take a sip, watching her tongue dart out to catch a droplet.

"I didn't tell you for good reason."

"It's your life, Santana, I'm not judging."

"Just worrying." Santana answers for her. Then her eyes narrow and she adds, "_And_ judging."

Quinn doesn't say anything for a long time. But then it's a zinger. "No." She decides, "I trust that you'll figure it all out."

Just then, Santana's phone buzzes. She makes a show of ignoring it.

"God, kept woman much?" Quinn rolls her eyes, leans, and switches both of their phones off. In the process, she drapes herself over Santana, who quickly takes control of the situation and flips her onto her back.

The shirts go easily and soon they're topless, still wearing the jeans they'd had on all day. Quinn spends a long time proving how not gay she is by licking and sucking each of Santana's nipples, back and forth, unrelenting. She keeps humming like this is making her happy enough all in itself. Her thigh fits perfectly between Santana's legs and she presses forward and starts kneading her thumb against one perfect point and pressing rhythmically with her tongue on the other.

Santana hunches over suddenly, cries out, and presses Quinn closer. Then she's panting against her forehead and pushing her off.

"Wow…did I do that?" Hazel eyes regard Santana with curiosity and something else…

"Uh huh." Is all Santana can say. No one has ever done that. Made her come just with her breasts being totally stimulated. She grins and something flips in her belly. Better than the fumbling threeway already.

But then…

"I have a sort of boyfriend." Quinn mutters against Santana's neck. She thinks it over and says, "but I'd rather do this."

Santana sighs and rubs the place on Quinn's lower back where she knows her former competition once tweaked a disk pretty bad. Her fingers knead higher up and she finds a knot to concentrate her energies on. Quinn just sighs and moans happily at the attention.

Then she jolts upright, looks into Santana's eyes, and rushes off to make a call and proceeds to break it off with the boyfriend on the spot.

"Wow. That was an important relationship in your young life." Santana quips. "Do you need some time to grieve? Shall we buy ice cream?"

"No, it honestly wasn't important." Quinn bounces next to her again and leans her head on Santana's shoulder. "I just wanted to do things on the up and up."

"Hmmm…" The mood is broken, but just a little, so Santana knows they can get it back. They talk about the guy a bit more. She gets sort of annoyed when she hears that he's a CEO of a major corporation and like twice Quinn's age. "Why?" She asks.

"Because it was easy. And interesting. Just an experiment."

Santana is deadly silent then. _Experiment._

"No…" Quinn's eyes go wide with horror. "_That _was…_this_ isn't…"

Mood. Broken. For real this time. Santana mutters about owing Quinn a backrub. "You need to take care of yourself." She also says this part, on her way out, because she remembers the way Quinn's body had vibrated when she got out of that chair at Prom.

They don't talk for a few days. Santana lets the lawyer eat her out on top of the fancy glass desk in her fancy big building but then she also tells her that they should try being friends. That doesn't go over well. So she wanders to the NYADA studio they let her and the other rejects use after hours. On the way, she texts Rachel, finds out she's having coffee with Quinn and Kurt, and offers to bring home dinner.

She's practicing a modern routine, mixing and matching an urban style she's convinced her cousin Bonita invented in her living room, when she realizes that the intense and familiar gaze of Quinn Fabray is locked on her ass.

"Rachel told me where you were." Quinn keeps it casual, leaning against the piano at the corner of the room. She watches Santana relax her limbs, admiration and perhaps just a tinge of envy coloring her gaze.

"Yeah? Good."

This time there aren't any slaps exchanged over the ivory keys, just a hug that lasts a good minute too long.

So it's late night Thai and white wine with Rachel and Kurt and Quinn, and so not like high school anymore, that Santana breathes a sigh of relief. Rachel looks at them all, with so much affection, and Santana shares her extra spring roll with her just for giggles.

Cassie drops by, bringing more wine. She and Quinn carefully regard one another. "I'm just here to save you from your incestuous high school selves," Cassie smirks and throws in, "though of course it's too late for Santana and Quinn, isn't it?"

"Hmmmm?" Rachel plays stupid and changes the subject, knowing better than anyone at that table exactly what would chase Quinn away. Kurt gets this look of dawning realization and stares at the former Cheerio captains with his mouth hanging open.

Later, while Rachel and Cassie pretend to sleep, and Kurt blasts ocean music to cover the sounds, Santana pushes Quinn onto her bed. "What are you doing?" Quinn whispers and props herself up on one elbow, presses her palm to Santana's heartbeat. But Santana just covers that hand and turns her again, gently this time. "Finishing what I started. Turn over hot stuff." She works her hands over knots and sore muscles until Quinn is a gooey puddle and asks in low tones, "Still doing physio?"

Quinn nods. "Yes. The pain is way less than it used to be, but still…this is good…" She grimaces one second, then moans with pleasure the next.

Santana laughs. It's the definition of a NSA massage—the kind they say girls really want—but Quinn's the one trying to grind backwards against her and she's the one trying to put a stop to it. "Cut it out," She says, "when you do that, you hyper extend your lower back and ruin all of my good work."

They sleep together—just sleep—and Santana wakes with the comforting feeling of having had someone next to her who she knows won't explode in an array of neediness or drama.

"People change, people move on…" is Quinn's mantra. What it means is that she has no faith in any kind of long-term relationship at this point in her life.

Santana's philosophy might be encapsulated in the words she learned when she left Brittany. She tells her friends, "I won't limit someone I love just because I'm afraid of losing them."

Fall comes and school happens again, for whoever bothers with it.

Santana gets together with a beautiful if slightly clingy, dark haired dancer, but then dumps her when she sneaks a toothbrush into Santana's bathroom after their third date. After a few one nighters, she briefly dates a seemingly sweet, granola loving psych student. But then she says some racist shit about Santana's identity or something, and also doesn't get a repeat performance.

Quinn, meanwhile, deals with her usual fair share of silly pretty boys who flit in and out of her life like lovesick flies. She even dreams about one of them turning into a fly, whining "marry me" before she has to smash his fly hand in a vice to get rid of him. Santana laughs until she nearly pees when she hears about that dream.


	4. Chapter 4

Cassie and Rachel's relationship is steady enough to surprise just about everyone—not least of all Cassie herself.

"Really?" She keeps asking. "As in, _really_?" They're sitting around with Rachel's dads and everyone is getting along and things are so nicey nice it's all getting a little saccharine. Cassie asks, more than once, if Quinn or Santana are in town, hoping that their snark might come around to visit.

Things are often just really, really good.

Like when they're reading the paper together on a Sunday morning and Rachel hands her tea, just the way she likes it—tepid and steeped too long.

Or when they go to a club and Cassie spends the entire night, dancing with Rachel, buying Rachel drinks, nuzzling her neck, and flirting with absolutely no one else because she could care fuck all _about_ anyone else.

"Really?" Cassie mutters when they stumble into their apartment, barely able to keep their hands off each other.

"Really what? Why do you keep saying that?" Rachel finally asks. She shoves her girlfriend onto their bed and works at removing the boots and clothes that are in the way of what she feels like doing next.

Not long into the relationship Cassie says, "Your building is a disgusting shithole and I'm terrified to walk up your stairs." It's her way of proposing that Rachel move in with her. She helps Santana and Kurt to find something better as well.

"Do you think she had someone killed?" Kurt asks terribly worried questions when they take a look at the two bedroom in a part of Manhattan they should not be able to afford.

"Nevermind lesbians." Cassie interrupts, throwing Santana and Kurt a pair of matching keys on rainbow key chains that make her laugh and laugh whenever she sees them. She looks Santana squarely in the eye and adds, "Still surprised you haven't U Hauled it with Quinn…" She earns a firm but gentle finger mashed against her lips as Rachel swoops between them and gives her lover a cautionary look.

Of course it's not long after Rachel moves in, that Cassie's feet start to get pretty cold.

"I'm…I've never…monogamy…" she stammers one night after two guys who are perfectly acceptable, sort of pretty, definitely boring enough to fuck, hit on her and Rachel out at the bar.

"We're going home." Rachel says firmly.

"We should have taken them home with us." Cassie announces an hour later, which is exactly two minutes after Rachel has given her a spine-tingling, toe-curling orgasm with her mouth and a new gadget that Cassie just doesn't want to mention.

It's then that Rachel finds her dominant side. She growls at Cassie and slowly removes the toy she's inserted deep inside her lover's ass.

Then she shoves it back in, roughly this time. Thank goodness for the cyberskin Rach put on it. Still, Cassie yelps.

"You bring that up now?" Rachel asks in a dangerous, low voice. She moves off the bed and opens a box beside the bed. When she returns, she grasps Cassie's ankles and throws them over her shoulder. Cassie's legs lift higher and she grunts as Rachel works the strap-on she's suddenly wearing, deep into her pussy. She watches as it slides in and out, slick with her lover's wetness, spreading her pussy lips in a way Rachel had no idea she'd be so fascinated by. This goes on a long, long time, until the toy is finally warm enough, and Rachel can focus on something other than the wonder of it all. She lowers Cassie's legs and slides her breasts along her lover's torso.

"You'll do as I say," Rachel repeats herself but it's ok. She reaches down, adjusts the vibe in her girlfriend's ass. It evokes a long mewing sound. Her eyes rake over Cassie's long limbs, splayed out in a way that tells her how much trust there is between them.

"Yes mistress." Cassie laughs breathlessly but then the toy is turned on again, full throttle, and she can only hold on, her hands gentle on Rachel's shoulders. Then she's coming and coming again, as Rachel's hair, sweaty and tossled, hangs in her face and sweat beads on her forehead and she thrusts hard and fast and steady.

And afterward, Cassie clings to Rachel, cooing in her ear and stroking her lovingly.

"That's my girl." Rachel says, because when she asked her friends for advice, a few days previous, they'd said 'make her work for it'. Everyone knows that Cassie needs to feel challenged. Rachel rolls atop her lover and presses her back to the mattress again. "Now make me come," she growls, waiting for Cassie to slide the dildo back inside. This time, it's a big more challenging to top Cassie, because she keeps smirking and rolling her hips in this insanely good way, until Rachel can only brace herself and let it happen. As her eyes roll back in her head and her clit pulsates, Rachel bites hard on Cassie's neck, marking her, keeping her steady.

Most of the time, their relationship is pretty equal. Their performances and rehearsals and teachings time are completely separate, but they still manage to advise one another at key moments. Like when Rachel decides against a series of toothpaste commercials when her career dips a little. Or when Cassie decides for a series of teaching gigs with completely untalented community groups because that's the real deal of artistry. Everyone is actually an artist they just need help unlocking it or…what fucking _ever_.

"You're lovely, Cassandra July. You're a good person and I love you, very, very much." Rachel says. She usually earns a smack on the ass and a quick kiss for it. Because Rachel has figured out what Cassie's secret is. She's a big softie and she'll spend years trying to make up for the terrible things her bruised ego have inspired her to say and do to other people.

"I'm sorry…" Cassie wants to say. Instead she says, "I love you…" and listens to all of Rachel's song choices and watches Cabaret ten too many times. And she holds her close at night when Rachel murmurs in her sleep out of stress or fear, that she'll fail, that she'll never live up to her own expectations.


	5. Chapter 5

Cassie likes to tease Santana and Quinn for being big lesbo stereotypes. She calls them U-Haulers just because they like to stay together whenever Quinn comes to the city. Which is like the pot and the kettle and whatever.

Still, Santana giggles like a dork when she ends up driving a U-Haul right to Quinn's place to bring her to the city for good. Quinn's graduating early from Yale and Santana is only helping a friend move, that's _all_. The U-Haul t isn't symbolic, just cheap—even if they do end up in bed on that first night in Quinn's empty, tiny apartment.

"That's the best sex I've ever had on a blowup mattress." Quinn smirks against Santana's belly where she appears to have burrowed in for the night. She's turned into a cuddler or something. Santana is sitting upright, using the wall as a backrest, and lets herself enjoy it a minute or two longer than she might with anyone else. Her nipples ache because Quinn has apparently also become a total breast fiend. She shifts and smiles down at mussed blonde hair splayed across her torso.

"Let's make this a ten time thing." Santana quips, nudging Quinn's chin up and rolling her over.

For that first year in New York together, Quinn works insane hours, like_ insane_, and Santana's aren't much better. They keep their lives pretty separate. Santana is approached by casting agents all the time, and she works on her music as well. Quinn works behind the scenes on a film and tries to decide if it's really what she wants. There are nights when she doesn't sleep at all.

They meet for breakfast at least weekly. Sometimes they're joined by Cassie, who still glares at Quinn from time to time.

"So you know, trying to get into Rachel's pants…_might_ have worked out better, if you both weren't pretending to _not_ be in love with other people." Cassie mutters the words in Quinn's direction while Rachel is out of earshot. Santana overhears but pretends not to.

Santana starts to let Quinn stay over a few nights a week since two of her part-time jobs are close by.

Then Rachel breaks up with Cassie and asks to move in. Kurt is out of town for a week, so it's up to Santana and Quinn to fix this one.

"We had a fight. She called me Rachel Ray." Is her sole reason for leaving. After all of the insults that used to pepper her dialogue, this quip seems pretty harmless.

"Why did you really leave?" Quinn asks. Santana sees the way Quinn looks at Rachel and she lets jealousy color her interactions with her oldest friend.

"She I'm too young to deal and that we should end it before things get complicated." Rachel looks up, surprised, when Santana slams a glass of water next to her just a little too emphatically. "Ummm…yeah so, I couldn't believe that she would dismiss our relationship like that. So I packed a bag…" Then she cries her eyes out against Quinn's black vest and stains the white dress shirt beneath with her mascara while Santana huffs about, ordering Thai and throwing a pile of old movies onto the coffee table.

They settle on watching Scream through to Scream 4. After Quinn and Santana help Rachel remake Kurt's bed, Santana tugs on her Quinn's hand and they share her bedroom for the night.

"Why are you so grumpy?" Quinn whispers as she peels off her shirt and pads around in just a bra and underwear. Santana mumbles something incoherent and flops into bed, putting her back to Quinn. If she's having insecurities with Berry in the next room, she can't admit it, not even to herself.

By morning, Santana seems to have forgiven Quinn for whatever it was. So when Quinn rolls against her, sighs in her sleep, and starts rocking against one thigh, Santana encourages it. _After _waking Quinn up first. "Hey…hey…not while you're asleep, kay?" Santana shakes her gently, and when Quinn realizes what she's done, she pauses, blinking with confusion.

Then they're tearing at each other's pajama bottoms, Quinn straddles Santana's hips and yanks off her tank top. It takes only a minute before she cries out, thrusting against the other woman's public bone, one perfect nipple between her lips. Santana follows shortly after, when Quinn reaches back and strokes through her folds and finds her clit. The heat from Quinn's mouth and the slight pressure of her fingertips is enough and Santana moans louder than she should with company in the next room.

Of course they find Rachel smirking like a smartass in the kitchen. She earns a kiss on the cheek from both when she presents them with pancakes. But rather than delve into whatever the hell is going on between them, she talks about her own shit. Which is good because it means that Santana doesn't have to process a thing. "Cassie called…she misses me but wouldn't admit it…"

"Are you going back?" Quinn asks in her usual blasé way. Rachel just nods and they finish their breakfast. There is something between them, some resonance, and it makes Santana's stomach hurt and her throat tighten up so much she can't sing.

She suggests that she and Quinn cool things a little.

"Yeah, that's ok." Quinn looks really hurt but she hardens her eyes just like always and shrugs it away.

A month later, Santana ends up staring in an off-off-Broadway production of Rock of Ages. It's a queerified production, she tells Brit over the phone.

"I like that a lot." Brittany responds. "Queerified sounds like fairies made it. Gay little fairies and bi-unicorns. By the way, I had a dream that you, me and Quinn made a magical pony together with just our thoughts." She makes Santana laugh, no matter what else is going on. They spend the rest of the conversation talking about Brittany's ultra-serious twin daughters. Listening to Brit's dealings with one year olds is sort of fascinating. She's pretty sure that her kids see ghosts. Like all the time. But when it comes to the day-to-day, nitty gritty of parenting, Brittany is doing it on her own and seems to be doing an amazing job.

But then…

"I miss Quinn sometimes." Santana finally admits, halfway through a diatribe about MIT's refusal to put slides and giant Jell-o dispensers in every building.

"You really should tell her that. And a whole lot more." Is the most logical reply.

There are nights when Santana sleeps very little. She wonders what her friends are all up to. Especially one friend. She even dreams, sometime in the fourth week apart, that they're having sex while watching a movie about violins.

But it's Quinn who caves first.

"Hey so, I heard from Rachel that you were starring in this play and I know you're too proud to ask for help, but I also know that you're going to need someone to run lines with." Quinn doesn't even bother with hello.

"Yeah, that's true…" Santana replies.

She has to rehearse more often, it is true. She also needs to sing with someone who is familiar enough with her voice. That's how they find themselves in Quinn's kitchen, singing _I Wanna Know What Love Is._

Cheesy. Totally.

When they end up kissing against the counter, something dives and dips in Santana's belly. Again.

"Are we sure we're not…" Quinn starts to ask something really important, but Santana interrupts her with a kiss right to that extra sensitive place on the left side of her neck. It's the place that makes her arch and moan uncontrollably which makes Santana smile so hard it hurts.


End file.
